#When I lived in the northern US I left it in the bag on the counter
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i know who you are | 7. the week
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.
Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)
WC: 7.7K
A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.
Series Masterlist
Somewhere in Northern California
It took two days.
Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.
It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.
He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.
Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.
With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.
After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.
Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?
The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.
But it was all he had.
You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.
He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.
You really fucking hurt me, Joel.
He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.
Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.
"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.
He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.
"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"
You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.
"Maybe."
You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.
"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.
"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."
He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.
"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."
You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.
"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.
"Just tired."
"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."
"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.
"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."
"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.
"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.
"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.
"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.
"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.
"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.
"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.
"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."
His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.
He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.
And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.
It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.
That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.
His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.
It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.
You didn't miss him.
Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.
There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.
But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?
And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?
"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.
He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.
He was protecting Ellie.
But he still shouldn't have lied.
With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:
You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.
You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.
Perhaps it was time to change that.
It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.
All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.
He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.
As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.
After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.
He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.
"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.
Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.
He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.
"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.
With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.
It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.
"Grant Street."
"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.
"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.
"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.
"Why's that?"
"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."
Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."
Maybe it was.
Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.
He could do this.
He was so close.
Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.
"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"
"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."
"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.
She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.
"Where's Ben?"
"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."
"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.
"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.
"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."
"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.
"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.
You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."
"Guilt?"
Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"
"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."
Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.
"Oh."
"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."
"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.
"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"
"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."
You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.
"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."
"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."
She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."
"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.
"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"
"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.
"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."
You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.
"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."
She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.
"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."
She trailed off again and cleared her throat.
"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."
A chill went down your spine and you nodded.
"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."
It ain't black and white.
"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."
"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."
When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.
"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.
The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.
Ellie was incredibly talented.
He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.
He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.
He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.
He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.
The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.
Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.
You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.
He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.
You looked so happy.
Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.
You spared my life just to break my heart.
He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.
He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.
Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.
"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"
"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."
Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.
"He's waking up."
"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.
"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"
Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.
"Fuck you."
The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.
"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.
"Don't got a camp."
"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."
He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.
"Boise."
"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.
"I told you what you wanted!"
"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?
Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.
The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.
"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."
"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"
"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.
"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."
The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.
"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.
In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.
"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.
The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.
"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"
Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.
Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.
Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.
Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.
He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.
Nothing.
"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.
With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.
It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.
He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.
He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.
Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?
"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.
The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.
Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.
He wasn't.
Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.
Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.
His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.
He finally got his sign.
"What happens when we die?"
"What?"
You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.
"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."
You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.
"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"
He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.
"Yeah, I do."
You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.
"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.
"What, darlin'?"
"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"
His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"
"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."
"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.
"Ain't nothin' better than this."
You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.
You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.
The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.
But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.
His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.
All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.
Then the rumors started.
You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.
When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.
It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.
When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.
So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.
I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.
You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.
"Went on a date the other night."
"With who?"
"Cindy, from the kitchen."
Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.
"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."
"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.
"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."
Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"
"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.
"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.
Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.
He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.
Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.
"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.
"Dunno. Something's out there."
Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.
"Maybe-"
Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.
"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.
"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.
"I got it."
"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.
"It's a horse."
"What?"
"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.
When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.
"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"
"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.
"Tell him it's Joel!"
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#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel the last of us#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller fluff#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#the last of us game#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us#ikwya fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller tlou
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Ya know what , I'll give you an idea
As a commercial pilot how bout a kink "plane sex"
And pls write Rosé with this kink
day 15. body worship. with. rosé.
1268 words.
tags.
kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, body worship, lots of kissing and licking, feet stuff, abs stuff, oral sex, fingering, squirting, minor plane stuff, the dialogue just goes places idk, hold onto your suspension of disbelief for dear life, blasphemy(?).
notes.
this is barely even related to the ask, isn’t it? sorry, icyphilosopher, i really am (thank you so much for the inspiration though). well, my excuse is i watched Queen & Slim (it was alright, the soundtrack might be the best part. that and Daniel Kaluuya) and felt like crime today.
The private jet has barely taken off when Rosé starts taking her clothes off, starting from the black heels, then proceeding with the black cropped blazer, the high-waisted black shorts, along with the belt and the chains attached to them, the polka dot black shirt, and finishing with the black stockings and her black underwear. She puts them all in a black trash bag and throws herself on the beige leather sofa face first, completely naked.
“Fuck this ‘No fires on the plane’ rule.” She complains into the beige pillow.
“I mean, if you want to burn them now and cause a fire, making the jet collapse on itself and getting us buried on the bottom of the northern Pacific, go ahead.” You reply nonchalantly as you take a sip of vodka while sitting cross-legged on one of the beige armchairs.
“Honestly, compared to the prospect of a ten-hour flight with you, that doesn’t even sound that bad”
It’s Rosé’s habit to burn clothes, phones, cars, (people,) anything that can be linked to her in a meaningful way, after every job. This time it was a fairly straightforward drug trade with this Yakuza syndicate in Osaka: give the talcum powder, take the money, go home. The road was somewhat bumpy and a couple heads had to pop, but what can you do. Oh, and the getting naked in front of you part, that was a thing way before you two started fucking.
You stand up from your seat and duck next to the couch as she turns her head towards you. Start caressing her smooth, long blonde hair as you admire her graceful features. How could such a cold, brutal criminal look so angelic?
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Leave no trace.” She recites her mantra matter-of-factly.
“You think someone’s on our trail?”
You lay on top of her and start kissing her shoulders, from the left, then move her hair to kiss her neck, to the right, and back a couple times.
“Someone’s always on your trail.” Your kisses start heading down her back, each a little wetter than the previous. “You know how it always ends with people like us, right?”
You think you hear Rosé’s voice break for a split second, but you could be wrong. Place your hands on her shoulders and start slowly making little circles with your thumbs as you keep traveling down.
“We get greedy and scared and die sad and alone?”
“We always trust one person too many”
As your trail of kisses gets to her lower back, right above the curve of her ass, you flip her body around. Bend her legs on her chest, then start massaging each foot with one of your hands, going from the middle of her soles, to her heels, to the balls of her feet, untangling her muscle fibers all the way through. You hear her humming in the meantime.
“So? Would you stop living your life for that?”
“I would try my best not to end my life because of that.” You bring her feet to your mouth and start pecking her toes, then travel down the inside of her feet and up again kissing her soles. “Plus, it gives me a sense of peace, of liberation”
“Ashes to ashes?”
“In that analogy, I would be… God?”
Take a long lick from her heel to the ball of her foot, ending by wrapping your lips around her big toe and licking all around it.
“Do you feel like one?”
“I don’t think God sees himself like we see him” She moves her other foot towards your mouth to signal you to switch, which you do, as your hands reach towards her small breasts and start softly playing with her rosy nipples. “Powerful men need people to adore them to feel immortal. Immortals don’t need our attention to be powerful”
“You think God is a woman?”
“I think God is a depressed fuck.”
You let out a chuckle. Then lower her knees again and place yourself between them to start kissing and licking her wonderful, sculpted abs. Your right hand almost instinctively starts lightly rubbing her already wet outer lips, your left grabbing her plump asscheek.
“What a short couple billion years alone in the button room could do to ya”
“But honestly, working on the wrong side of the law… I think it’s hard not to feel like one” She starts panting a little in between words.
“Ego?” Your mouth slowly travels down her lower stomach while your fingers play with her nub.
“Just, pure facts. I could kill a man that crosses my path at any time, and I have. Mmmmh. We just, own their lives. The decision to let them live on, or to end them, right then and there. It’s all ours. Yeahh- How do you not feel all-powerful when you have that?”
It becomes hard for her to complete a sentence without any moans in between.
“Does it matter?”
“W-What?”
Rosé’s focus is probably directed away from the conversation, and towards the feeling of your fingers opening her lips wide and your tongue taking one long lick from the bottom of her slit up to her sensitive clit.
“I don’t know them. Are decisions over the lives of people you don’t care about even worth making?”
You take several shorter licks around her slit, side to side, up and down, once in a while penetrating her hole slightly.
“What do y-youh care about?”
As her moans become longer and more frequent, her sentences become simpler and shorter.
“Right now, taking my money home”
Your tongue digs deep into her pussy, you try to reach every corner and crevice of her heat with it, and her whimpers tell you you’re doing a pretty good job at it.
“And th-en, what?”
Your mouth detaches from her right as she sounds like she’s going to give in. You get on your knees and pause for a second, looking at the empty floor of the plane.
“...I don’t know, a legacy?”
“Villains have no legacy, they only leave bloody paper and hate behind them”
You get back down to face her, staring right down Rosé’s deep brown orbs. Your fingers return to her lower lips, and two of them make their way into her slippery walls, drawing a loud groan off of her. You start pumping in and out of her at an ever increasing pace.
“Love. I want someone to come back home to, to be there, waiting for me, to heal my wounds.” She’s now moaning right in your face, her pitch getting higher and higher, signaling her impending high, but her eyes are wide open and locked on yours. “To be able to spend time with, in silence, without it feeling awkward, not needing to worry about the future, just looking at her in the eyes, and, being in love.”
A few final pumps and Rosé starts repeatedly contracting around you, a stream of unholy water covering your entire hand and wrist in a profane coating, only a deep, tongue-filled kiss muting her screams as she finally can’t keep her eyes open anymore. You close yours with her as her arms wrap around your neck. The kiss lasts far longer than the already lengthy while she takes to recover from her strong orgasm. As both of you stare into each other’s pupils again, you’re the first to talk.
“How do you know when you’ve found what you’re looking for?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll start from, looking at the junk I’ve collected on my way, before burning it”
-
footnotes.
god is a journey. progressively, leaf.
#kinktober#kinktober 2023#girl group smut#idol smut#female idol smut#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#idol x reader#idol x male reader#blackpink#rosé#rose#blackpink smut#rose smut#rosé smut#blackpink rose smut#blackpink rosé smut
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HL FIC LIBRARY ✤ AUTHOR REC
AO3: phdmama
Tumblr: @phdmama
STATS:
✤ Number of fics: 208
✤ Posting Since: 2016
TOP 5 FICS:
1️⃣ Hold My Heart {E, 14k}
“Excuse me, mate, I’m the window seat here.” The voice was soft, apologetic, and accented in something a bit unfamiliar — northern England, maybe, Harry thought.
“Oh,” Harry jumped to his feet and moved aside, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”
The other man laughed as he swung a bag into the overhead compartment and slid into the seat. “You were well caught up in that book, mate. What are you reading?”
Harry paused, wondering how to explain the fact that he was reading an epic and x-rated romance that was the story of a relationship between a prince and the man he’d enslaved. “Oh, you know, just some fiction my sister recommended.” He turned to look at the man and froze.
Sitting next to him was Louis Tomlinson.
Or, the one where famous Louis Tomlinson offers his hand and a lot more to his seat mate on a transatlantic flight.
(Co-written with @a-writerwrites)
2️⃣ Feels Like Coming Home {E, 60k}
The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.
This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.
3️⃣ On the Go {T, 2k}
From this post because I could not resist.
4️⃣ It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along) {E, 51k}
When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days. He's got it all planned - there's going to be shore excursions, lounging by the pool on the deck of the luxurious cruise ship, not to mention margaritas. What he does not plan for are the new friends, new bonds, or the mystery from his past that comes back to haunt him, and he certainly hasn't planned for Louis.
5️⃣ For Better and For Worse {M, 12k}
Harry and Louis have been together for 5 years and they've been getting questions when they would be getting married and start a family. Bur Harry doesn't have the time. They were arguing one morning when Harry had enough and left for work. He's a doctor and works at the a&e there is a call that there has been a bad car crash and that there is more than one patient coming in. Harry does his job good and works on the first patient and everything goes great until his next patient is Louis.
HIDDEN GEM:
���� Unveiled {M, 65k}
The train grinds to a halt and Harry leans forward in his eagerness to take it all in. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, the sky the same intense blue that he knows from home, which comforts him. There’s much here that looks almost familiar, but then so much that is new and strange to his eyes. The bustling station platform and winding streets beyond paved in cobblestones look much like home. There are vehicles ranging from small to very large, some with strange and unusual shapes of which he can only guess the purpose. But most surprising are the people. There is a crowd gathered, filled with men and women, some in what looks to be a military uniform, some in what must be the street clothes in this Land.
There are no robes. And not a single one of them is veiled.
#ficrec#phdmama#authorrec#hlcreators#hljournal#trackinghome#trackinghappily#ficsfor4am#1dficvillage#hlsource#tracksintheam
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December moments
Prompt used in this chapter: Boxing Day
It’s time to go home, but the train doesn’t meet Sherlock’s demands when it comes to speed. For quite some time he wishes he lived in Japan and could rely on the Shinkansen to get him home and into bed with John in minutes instead of hours.
December 26
There had been some blurry eyes at breakfast on Christmas Day when John told the other Holmes’s about the engagement. Mycroft just lifted an eyebrow and gave them both a knowing look that suggested they hadn’t been that silent in the shower after all. John was too euphoric to care and didn’t even blush. Sherlock on the other hand got a tinge of pink on his cheekbones, which John ached to kiss, but he stayed decent, just squeezing Sherlock’s hand and interlacing their fingers.
John had urged Sherlock to tell his family about the upcoming trip to the north, to get the attention away from innuendos about their passionate encounter.
Sherlock’s parents eagerly told them about their honeymoon to the Norwegian city of Tromsø, where Mrs. Holmes also was to give a few lectures at the university.
“Of course, she was,” Sherlock muttered under his breath.
“We married on New Years Eve and left for the north two days later. It was -25 degrees for the entire week, and we saw the northern lights every day,” Mr. Holmes said dreamily.
“Did you know this?” John asked Sherlock when they’d eaten.
“I did not,” Sherlock admits, still awed and puzzled by this new insight about his parents.
After a late breakfast on Boxing Day, Sherlock and John packed their bags to return home to London. The former was taught as a violin string, eager to experience what awaited him once they got inside 221B. Just thinking back to John’s promise on Christmas Eve, of what he would do to his fiancé, made Sherlock’s brain buzz and his body sing.
***
“Do you regret leaving your family home?” John asks after they’ve found their seats on the train.
Sherlock looks at John like he’d asked him if he wants Anderson to be his best man, and it must show on his face, if John’s chuckle is any indicator.
“You just seem anxious and a bit agitated,” John explains.
Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes.
“This train stops at every station, John! It will take us ages to get home.”
“I see,” John purrs and lets his eyes roam over Sherlock’s body, lingering on his groin.
Sherlock growls in frustration and squirms in his seat. His trousers are getting uncomfortably tight around aforementioned area. He can’t decide if he’s pleased or irritated that the train is so crowded, but in the end sets on the former. It would’ve been far too tempting to crowd in on John if there were more space around them.
For the remainder of the train ride, John has an amused look on his face. He has obviously observed Sherlock’s discomfort, and Sherlock’s unable to tell if John’s in a similar state. John’s so good at hiding his expressions and bodily impulses when they’re in public.
John leans forward, placing his hand on Sherlock’s knee and murmurs something under his breath. At first, Sherlock’s not able to decipher the words, because his senses are distracted by the warm and tingling sensation John’s hand on his knee has on him. John repeats himself, and squeezes his knee for emphasis, which gets Sherlock’s brain working again.
“Deep breaths, love.”
Sherlock inhales and exhales like his doctor ordered and feels some of the tension subsides. He lets his hand rest atop of John’s for a few seconds before he leans back in his seat and gazes out of the window, realising that London Bridge is the next stop.
***
Sherlock tosses their bags haphazardly to the floor and shrugs out of his coat in seconds, before turning to face John who stands at parade’s rest looking expectantly at him. Sherlock’s mouth is dry, and he feels tension building in every limb and nerve ending.
“What do you want, love?” John asks so softly it contradicts his stance.
Sherlock closes his eyes relieved that John lets him choose.
“Just you, John,” he whispers, anxiously searching John’s face for any displeasure.
“Come here, fiancé.”
John opens his arms and Sherlock stumbles toward him, burying his face in John’s neck, inhaling the scent there, which always grounds him.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” John tells him. “Captain Watson can wait. Tonight, I just want us to be Sherlock and John.”
“How did I get this lucky, John?” Sherlock mumbles into John’s skin, placing warm kisses wherever he can reach without moving away.
John pets his hair and Sherlock relaxes completely with just a hint of arousal tingling in the outskirts of his consciousness.
“Let me take you to bed, Sherlock,” John whispers in Sherlock’s ear.
“Yes, fiancé,” Sherlock retorts, and follows John down the hallway with blushing cheeks.
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#christmas ficlet prompts#sherlock fandom#sherlock#john watson#johnlock#sherlock fanfic#bbc sherlock#ao3 fanfic#december moments#respite in december
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heaven - joe burrow x reader (pt.2)
I had managed to fall asleep for almost the whole flight to Ohio. It was about 12-o-clock-ish at night when we touched down in Cincinnati. After we landed safely and the plane got checked off, we could be able to get out of the plane and head into the actual airport. Once they gave us the thumbs up that we could go, I immediately grabbed my carry on bag and headed for the tunnel to the airport. I texted my parents to tell them I had landed, to which I got a quick response that they would be over there in a little bit to pick me up. I was so excited to see them, it had been over a month or two since I last saw them.
When I got back into the airport, I made my way to the baggage claim and waited on my bags to make their way around the belt. As I watched other peoples bags go around and around, I couldn’t help but think about how long the baggage claim goes. It travels in that same pattern with almost no stops. It does the same thing every day and doesn’t get tired. Does it ever get tired? Yes, I know the baggage claim isn’t a human but when humans do the same thing over and over again - they get tired of it, so why can’t intimate objects get tired? As a college freshman, I get burnout from classes sometimes, even though I have only been at LSU for about 4 months.
The more I think about it, I do almost the same thing everyday to. I get up, get ready for the day, go to my classes, eat, go to dance practice, then come back to my dorm to study and go to sleep - so why wasn’t I tired of it yet? Maybe, it’s because college is a new experience and that’s the reason I don’t get tired of doing it over and over again. Yet, it made me wonder about if other people get tired of the things they do over and over again. Does my dad ever get tired from coaching? Does he ever wake up and think, ‘I’m so exhausted from this job, maybe I should call it quits’? Does Joe Burrow ever get tired of playing football? Does he ever want to call it quits? Does everybody that lives in this world get tired of everyday life at least once in their lifetime?
While I had all of these thoughts racing through my mind, one really stood out - Will I ever get tired of what I’m doing every single day?
My thought clustered brain was distracted by my luggage coming into my eyesight. I quickly ran to get the bags before the conveyer belt went any further. After assisting them to the ground, it was time to wait on my parents to get here. I texted mom to tell her I got my luggage and that I was waiting on them. To which I got the response:
Momma
Okay pumpkin, we are a few minutes out! Can’t wait to see you!
I hearted her message and then found some odd corner to stand in until they arrived. To pass time, I checked my text messages and social medias… maybe occasionally looking at a specific quarterbacks instagram.
‘Y/n, you need to stop’ My inner conscious voices were telling me, but I just couldn’t. The way his dirty blonde hair fell against his forehead, the way his eyes were stern yet soft at the same time, and that smile - don’t even get me started. I was completely mesmerized by this boy, and I didn’t even know anything about him besides his name, stats, and jersey number.
After a few more minutes of mindlessly looking at my phone, my mom texted that they had parked and were starting to walk into the airport. My heart started to race, I was actually getting to see them. I started to walk with my bags through the airport, checking each entrance to make sure I hadn’t missed my parents. I texted back to ask which entrance they were coming through, to which mom replied with a simple ‘C’. I was currently at entrance ‘E’ so I continued to make my way through the airport. I left E then continued to D, then I finally reached the C entrance. I looked around to see if I could find my parents when I heard my name being yelled.
“Y/n! Y/n!” I heard my dads loud northern voice boom my name. I turned in the direction of the voice and there they were, my parents in all their glory. Once I laid my eyes on them, I dropped my bags and ran to give them one big bear hug. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t almost welled to tears.
“Dang lil bit, I could use you on my defensive line if you tackle like that” my dad said grunting after I had attacked them with my hug. I laughed at his nonsense and gave them both individual, calmer hugs.
“Oh honey, it’s so great to see you again!” My mom said still hugging me.
“It’s great to see you guys too! I’m glad to be back in cincy” I confessed, truly happy to have some change of scenery.
While I was talking to mom, dad went and grabbed my bags for me.
“Well, I’ve been in the airport long enough, let’s go home” I said excitedly, eager to be in the comfort of our home.
My parents agreed and we made our way out of the airport to dads truck - with my mom and I holding hands the entire time. Dad loaded up my stuff as mom and I hopped into the vehicle. I buckled up and dad got in to start up the truck. It was a bit chilly in Cincinnati, so dad cranked up the heat to warm us up.
When we pulled out of the parking spot and started our way home, conversation overflowed the truck. Questions that pertained to school, dance, and how the flight was.
“Yeah, Kandace said that she hopes that once I’m finished with college that I try out for an NFL dance team. Something about ‘I have way too much talent to not use it past the tiger girls’” I said answering a question my dad had asked about dance.
“You know honey, after college and if your dad is still coaching - you can always come home and try out for the ben-gals!” My mom turned to look at me from the passenger seat.
I quirked my head. “Like the Bengals dance team?” I asked. Mom shook her head to indicate a ‘yes’ and I pondered on the thought for a second.
“I’ll keep it in consideration. I still have three more years left of the tiger girls so I’ll cross the NFL dance team bridge when it comes. Plus, I feel like people would say stuff, like ‘Oh it’s the football coach’s daughter, they’re automatically going to let her on blah blah blah’” I told mom, being honest as I could because I mean… it is true people do say things like that.
“People are going to talk all your life Y/n, all you can do is let em’. You’ve got a god given talent lil bit - don’t let peoples words stop you from using it.” My dad chimed into our conversation, making sure his point stood out.
“Also, I’ll be dammed if anybody says anything about you lil bit. Especially the coaches daughter act.” Dad cut back in, I stifle a laugh.
We continued to drive home as my tiredness started to set in. I couldn’t wait to be in my nice, soft bed at home - I know it was calling my name.
Next thing I know, we’re pulling up into our houses driveway. Before the truck was even in park, I quickly undo my seatbelt and get out of the truck. I rush to the other side of the vehicle to grab my bags, to which my parents laughed at my eagerness to get into the house and in the bed.
We walked up to the front of the house and as my parents unlocked the door, I stepped in and just breathed in the nice, home-y air. It felt so good to be back in Cincinnati for the week. I ran up to my room to put my stuff down and start getting ready for bed.
I sat my bags down and grabbed a makeup wipe out of my toiletries bag to take off my makeup. I decided that would be good enough skin care for tonight, since I was dog-tired.
“Y/n, come down here real quick!” My dad yelled. I made my way downstairs to the living room where my parents were standing. I responded with a quick ‘what’s up?’.
“Listen lil bit, I have football practice all week and I was wondering if you’d maybe want to come some of the days? Get to meet the guys maybe? I talk about you a lot and they seem to really want to meet you” My dad says, almost pleading for me to go with him.
I think about it for a minute. Many things could lead out of this. One, I could get to spend more time with my dad AND get to see him do his job. Two, new football guy friends. Finally, three; meeting Joe Burrow. I know, it’s an awful time to be thinking about him - but getting to see and meet him would be a win in my book. Also, dad talks about me a lot? Why would he talk to the guys about me? That means Joe probably already knows everything about me. I’m just praying he didn’t tell any embarrassing stories, like how my first prom went… that would be a disaster.
I looked at my dad and mustered up my answer.
“Yeah, totally! I’ll go!” I said actually kind of excited to go stand on a professional football field other than LSU’s.
Dad starts cheering like the Bengals have won the Super Bowl.
“Yes! I was hoping you would agree” Dad comes over to hug me. “It’ll be fun lil bit, be ready by seven okay? Now go get some sleep, early wake up call” Dad squeezes me one last time and kisses my cheek before we say our goodnights.
As dad heads to him and moms bedroom, mom grabs my arm.
“Now, I know you’re going to hopefully have a ton of fun tomorrow but honey, please don’t get caught up in any of those football boys. Some of them are bad news” Mom says looking me dead in my eye sympathetically.
“Momma, I am not going to get all caught up in one of them. I have too much to focus on in life right now and a boy would just mess it up.”
“That’s my girl! I just don’t want you to see you get hurt. You know what happened last ti-“ I grimace before mom can even finish her sentence. I didn’t need to think about him, he was the least of my concerns and had been for quite awhile now.
“Momma, just don’t worry - I won’t get caught up in the boys. I’m just going with dad to have a fun day at their football practice, nothing more” I tried to smile at her, it wasn’t really working.
“Okay honey, I trust you. Let me know if you need anything. Go get some sleep. Goodnight, I love you Y/n” Mom hugs me and I tell her goodnight. When mom walks to the bedroom, I just stared at the ground till I had the will to go back upstairs.
Why did mom always have to bring him up? Every-time I went around any-one of the opposite sex, she always made sure the ‘be careful, don’t get involved in somebody like your ex-boyfriend’ talk happened. Hell, when I moved to LSU she was in shambles about it; thinking I would be dumb enough to be with somebody like him again.
I finally shook myself out of my thoughts and headed upstairs to my room. I finished taking off my makeup, went and brushed my teeth, and finally changed into some comfortable pajamas - which mostly consisted of loose shorts and a too big t-shirt. I plugged in my charger and connected it to my phone, then grabbed anything else I needed for my night stand. I set an alarm for six in the morning, I was only going to be running on about four to five hours of sleep in the morning - but it’s whatever. As I turned onto my side and started to drift to sleep, something caught my mind.
Oh my god, I get to meet Joe Burrow in the morning.
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taglist: @raeofsunshine629 @destinywyatt @sinners-98-world
#joe burrow#joe burrow fic#joe burrow fan fic#bengals#bengalsfootball#lsutigers#lsu#lsu football#nfl#football#joe burrow x reader#joe burrow imagine#zac taylor#tigergirls#joeyb#cincinnati bengals
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The first meeting | Caroline Graham Hansen
AN: No trigger warning. You are a girl from Norway, Benedicte. I had to chose a random Norwegian name. This will be a storyline in forms of imagines, so I recommend reading chronologically.
I was fresh out of University, and for sure done with anything related to lectures, studying and assignments. I grew up in this silly little Norwegian town, Tromsø. You know, a place where you can see the northern lights, reindeers and polar bears! Well, the latter is not entirely true. It is just a dead polar bear stuffed for tourists to see and take pictures of. Regardless, I grew up here with my grandparents. My father left when I was a baby, and my mother? I went no contact a few years ago as she put me through a lifetime of trauma. That is exactly why I decided that when I was finished with my bachelors degree in sports leadership, I needed to get out of this sad little town. It is always cold, and we have winter for 9 months a year. Three of them are in complete dqrkness, no sun or no daylight. It’s just as bad as it sounds. That’s why I applied for jobs pretty much anywhere but here. Towns like Oslo, London, Australia (hello Sam Kerr) and even the us. I however ended up getting a job offer from the women’s department in the club known as Barcelona. It was just what I needed; Sun, beaches and Spanish women.
I decided to go to Barcelona a week early, I had to take advantage of checking out the city and the nightlife! Barcelona had arranged this beautiful apartment for me downtown. It was a decent sized apartment in a new building with spectacular views from my bedroom window in the 23rd floor. I have never seen anything like this as I grew up very poor, and only lived in an apartment with my grandparents. I spent the first week checking out bars, restaurants and beaches. I also found a huge mall with all of my favourite stores! Naturally, I had to purchase new clothes as I was told that there would be an athletic dress code. Lululemon for the win!
I didn’t really meet a lot of hot Spanish women during my first week, but I made a few friends in the building. One of my closest neighbours, Ingrid Engen lived two doors away from me. I recognised her from a talent camp for 13 year olds in Norway. And somehow she recognised me! We had spent the first week getting to know each other, and when she found out I was going to be working for Barcelona; she was beyond excited. We clicked naturally, and we went out to all her favourite bars, restaurants and shops. She really gave me the full experience!
Fast forward to today, Monday morning. The first of August. At 5.30. Let’s just say that I regretted the last bottle of wine from last night. But today was the day! The day were I finally start my first “big girl job” and you bet I was feeling excited. I got my tired body out of bed and opened up the blinds in my apartment. The views just took my breath away. It was stunning! A beautiful sunrise with the most beautiful colors that I’ve ever seen. I made myself a black coffee, and wrapped my robe around me so i could sit outside on my private balcony. It felt relaxing. The air was crisp, I could hear the ocean and I could smell the salty beach. It was like a dream come true.
My daydreaming soon became interrupted as I knocked myself intro reality. First day of my first job, right. I quickly made it to the bathroom and had a steaming shower. The smells of my floral soap felt like a full on aroma therapy session. I quickly got out of the shower and patted myself dry. My blonde long hair dried and put in a half up half down bun and I did light makeup as my skin was tanned from the week in the sun. I always used some mascara, it really made my icy blue eyes pop. I got dressed up in what I was asked to wear; Black athletic shorts, a black tank top, my trusty black hokas and a hot pink lululemon jacket. It felt wrong, but my new boss had insured me that any athletic wear was good. I grabbed my bag and took a deep breath. I took a look in the mirror, and I added some fruity chapstick. This was going to be the first day of the rest of my life.
*fast forward to being with your boss*
“Ah, and this office is where you will be working from! Feel free to decorate however you like.” The Spanish woman said. I nodded and listened as active as I could. “Here is your work phone, your laptop and your camera. If there is anything you need, you let me know.” she said as she handed me what looked like a tower of apple and canon products. I was stunned. “Wow, this is amazing, thank you so much! I’m so excited to get to know the team, and I’m eager to get to work.” I replied as I sat down my new work gear and followed the tall woman as she talked enthusiastically about Barcelona and their work culture.
*Caroline POV*
Jonathan was going on, and on and on and on about what this season was gonna look like. I was tying up my white Nike cleats, they were brand new as the team wanted us to start fresh. I however, hated fresh and new and change. I liked stability, routine and same old. Why change something that isn’t broken?
The door to the hallway suddenly swung open. There was the head of staff, Maria. She was always so bright and shiny and talkative. Not really my way of life. “Ah, Maria, just in time!” Jonathan called out. “Come, come!” He urged and a blonde petite woman popped up from behind Maria. “This, ladies, this is Benedicte. She is one of the new assistant coaches, and she will be primarily working with the wingers. With her, we will be unstoppable!” Jonathan said enthusiastically. The girl blushed, and smiled. “Hi squad, Im looking forward to kicking your asses on a daily basis” she said with a cheeky grin. I was staring at her as I couldn’t remember why she seemed so familiar. “Caro, stop staring!” Mapi hissed at me. I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t staring” I hushed, but with no luck as the team was already making their way onto the pitch.
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Werewolf Fact #71 - Book Review: Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves
While it may not be a "werewolf fact" of the traditional nature, it's very important when studying folklore to know and understand one's sources.
One of the very best sources for werewolf folklore - and indeed other folklore and mythology besides - is Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves (or The Book of Were-Wolves as he called it), written in 1865. However, like any academic/rhetorical source, it shouldn't be taken at face value. Let's dive into why it's such a useful source - and why you shouldn't always take to heart everything Baring-Gould attempts to assert.
Already a scholar, Baring-Gould was a skeptical guy. It all began when, during his travels, Baring-Gould encountered several people terrified of a werewolf. He was baffled they truly believed in such a thing, and that it would stop them from wanting to traverse a road at night...
“If the loup-garou were only a natural wolf, why then, you see”—the mayor cleared his throat—“you see we should think nothing of it; but, M. le Curé, it is a fiend, a worse than fiend, a man-fiend,—a worse than man-fiend, a man-wolf-fiend.”
Baring-Gould, not intimidated, walked the road alone. However, along the way, the words of the others got to him, and he found himself frightened. The manner in which such preposterous superstition (naturally, he wasn't exactly a believer) would actually make him afraid at all made him very curious about such things and why people would believe in them...
This was my first introduction to werewolves, and the circumstance of finding the superstition still so prevalent, first gave me the idea of investigating the history and the habits of these mythical creatures.
I must acknowledge that I have been quite unsuccessful in obtaining a specimen of the animal, but I have found its traces in all directions. And just as the palæontologist has constructed the labyrinthodon out of its foot-prints in marl, and one splinter of bone, so may this monograph be complete and accurate, although I have no chained werewolf before me which I may sketch and describe from the life.
The traces left are indeed numerous enough, and though perhaps like the dodo or the dinormis, the werewolf may have become extinct in our age, yet he has left his stamp on classic antiquity, he has trodden deep in Northern snows, has ridden rough-shod over the mediævals, and has howled amongst Oriental sepulchres. He belonged to a bad breed, and we are quite content to be freed from him and his kindred, the vampire and the ghoul. Yet who knows! We may be a little too hasty in concluding that he is extinct. He may still prowl in Abyssinian forests, range still over Asiatic steppes, and be found howling dismally in some padded room of a Hanwell or a Bedlam.
Baring-Gould has his biases, but he also has an open mind about some topics, even if he's shut tighter than a bear trap on others, especially where anything scientific is concerned, as he was a big believer in the science of his time (not all of which is applicable to today). He's a complicated bag of tricks, and reading his work is quite an experience.
Whatever his biases and whatever one might think of his occasionally very judgmental and overly authoritarian words (i.e., he can sometimes think he knows better than everyone, including the people who actually lived during the time periods he's discussing), he is nothing short of phenomenal at his work of gathering and examining sources... even if he isn't always right. He contradicts his own research at least once, namely in relation to berserkers, but I won't go into all that (unless you read my edition of his book, of course; I discuss it extensively there).
He even spins some of his sources into thrilling tales. He honestly isn't bad at narration, able to paint an impressive and thrilling picture when retelling various werewolf (and other) legends...
But when dusk settled down over the forest, and one by one the windows of the castle became illumined, peasants would point to one casement high up in an isolated tower, from which a clear light streamed through the gloom of night; they spoke of a fierce red glare which irradiated the chamber at times, and of sharp cries ringing out of it, through the hushed woods, to be answered only by the howl of the wolf as it rose from its lair to begin its nocturnal rambles.
Something to note with Baring-Gould is that some of his sources are actually no longer with us. They did clearly exist, and he could access them during his own time, but they've since been lost, especially in such original formats (or they might be gone altogether). This is just another reason why Baring-Gould's work is irreplaceable as a source for many, many fields, not just werewolf studies. He cites and discusses works about many kinds of folklore, mythology, and even history, and he even provided the first English translation of the trail of Giles de Rais, a famous killer (and basis for the fairy tale Bluebeard). It's a fascinating read, even if you're just there for general folklore and mythology or if you're there specifically for werewolves or, broader spectrum, all manner of shapeshifters - he even talks a little bit about dragons!
However, when reading, bear in mind that Baring-Gould is not without his biases, as I mentioned before. He can be very judgmental of other scholars, especially from the past, but that isn't exactly uncommon even in modern scholarship. It's easy enough to read around, as long as you don't take everything he writes as fact. No scholar is perfect, no matter how impressive their work is, and that certainly includes Baring-Gould. He also approaches his work with werewolves specifically with the determination to relate them to "madmen" and serial killers, which is a consistent theme throughout the book. He will discuss werewolf legends and detail them well, but toward the end of each section, when providing his own assessment, he will generally offer how such things could be rationalized in his own mind. In doing so, of course, he does offer interesting discussion and food for thought, regardless of whether you agree with him (I agree with him at times but can also find him very disagreeable; it's like that with most everything one reads, so no shocker there). And, of course, his work even if only used for informational purposes is still impressive.
Biases is no reason to pass on what might be the best single source on these many topics. Besides, reading around potential biases is a skill everyone should learn.
One of his biggest downsides is that he doesn't provide English translations of all his quoted passages and sources. This was a problem in the original publication from the 1800s, and it continues into today with nearly all editions...
However, if you do want translations of nearly all of his quoted passages from various sources (as well as extensive annotations discussing werewolf studies, mythology, and more, and putting his scholarship into a modern context and even pointing out his errors, such as when he contradicts himself), then you need to see my edition of his work!
I personally translated and annotated The Book of Werewolves this year, and it's now available for purchase both through Amazon.com and my personal website, with a cover that's a different take on the book's original 1865 release...
Be sure to check it out at Amazon.com and my personal website!
If you buy it directly from me, I'll sign it for you, too. You can also download an ebook, if you prefer.
I assure you it's the best edition of this book you'll find. I know because I've bought nearly all of them trying to find one that's at all easy to reference. My edition even includes a bibliography that will assist you with further related reading, among other useful things. I've made sure the formatting is easily readable, so it's good for both casual reading and citation/quotation in research/academic projects. This was a lot of work, and I'm very proud of how it turned out, especially as I myself have worked with this book for years.
Final words: even with all my own personal biases about werewolves, the study of werewolf and other legends, and my opinions on some of Baring-Gould's assertions, I have to give Baring-Gould's work a 10/10 for being a must-read for anyone interested in werewolves. Trust me - if you love werewolves and studying their folklore like I do, you won't be able to put this book down, and you'll walk away with far more knowledge than you had before. Reading this book alone will give you a decent foundational knowledge of werewolf studies, while also touching upon other fields.
However, of course, I do recommend reading mine. Obviously. Especially because Baring-Gould is just so wrong about berserkers (hence, my own assertions)! But anyway.
That's all for now. Until next time, and be sure to check out my newsletter linked below!
( If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, as well as free fiction and nonfiction book previews.
Free Newsletter - maverickwerewolf.com (personal site + book shop) — Patreon — Wulfgard — Werewolf Fact Masterlist — Twitter — Vampire Fact Masterlist — Amazon Author page )
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Chapter 4 <3
The cold November wind bit at my cheeks as I walked down the street, tote bags in hand. I was walking down the street to the local grocery store. I had really underestimated how cold it would be up here on the northern part of the East Coast. Pulling my jacket closer to me, I look up at the sky and let out a shaky breath.
After Detective Loki had left the other night, I made myself busy with house chores and ordered Chinese takeout for Mark and I. He came home and pretty much left me alone, which I was used to. I couldn't complain, though. It was easier to be left alone than to be pestered by a man-child that I wasn't even sure I loved anymore.
It was a hard task, hiding all of my subconscious smiles from him when thinking about Detective Loki. I knew that if he saw me smiling to myself like an idiot for no reason at all, he'd know something was up. As much as I wanted to settle down and start a new chapter in this sleepy little town, I wanted so bad to get away from Mark. I needed to get away from him. I wanted to go to New York City, become a freelance writer and live my dream. Or just start it somewhere, at least. Some place where I couldn't be found. And with the sea of bustling people in New York, it seemed like the perfect place. I would maybe even travel, or find love somewhere in the breezy countryside of Paris, France. It's a cliché dream, but it's what I wanted, and what I strived for. I smiled to myself thinking of traveling with Detective Loki, but I shot it down instinctively. I didn't even know the man. Before I met Mark, I had aspirations. I had a heart full of love and gave it to the first person who asked. And it got me nowhere good. I didn't want to make the same mistake again.
With my jean-covered legs being on auto-pilot and my mind elsewhere, I reached the main street pretty fast. Watching the bustle of the neighborhood brought me a small joy. I strolled past some city workers putting up Christmas decorations. I wondered if I could get out by Christmas. But as much as the thought of leaving to New York City so soon appealed to me, I wanted to take a break from being so on edge. Mark was working nearly all day, and I usually had the house to myself, to do whatever I wanted until I would start my new job. I made a mental note to myself to keep myself calm, and stay on Mark's good side if I wanted my temporary stay here to be the least bit enjoyable.
I took a deep breath, and inhaled the crispy winter air that smelled of wet leaves and café food. Entering the market, I grabbed a shopping cart and headed to the first isle I saw. I planned on walking around for a good bit, getting to know the market and what I could bring home all by myself. I need to invest in a car, once I start working. I can't rely on him to take me everywhere. i thought to myself.
Walking mindlessly throughout the isles, I reached the frozen section where I planned on rummaging. I loved to cook, I thought of it as an art. I cooked all the time when Mark and I first started dating. He loved my cooking, and that was one of the first things we did together once we made our relationship official. We loved to do it together. But now, I couldn't bring myself to put as much love into it as I used to. I missed it.
I picked up some frozen garlic toast, pondering making Spaghetti and Meatballs for dinner, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"I personally like the New York Bakery brand. Or better yet, homemade." I turned and was face-to-face with Detective Loki. He was wearing a black winter coat, zipped up to his jaw, covering that neck tattoo that I liked to stare at. His hair was slicked back and neat as always, and his smell instantly drifted towards my direction. I remembered not to sniff so hard this time.
"Oh! It's you" I say with a toothy grin and a chuckle. "Yeah, I make a bomb garlic toast from scratch, but I'm not in a huge cooking mood today, you know how it is." I toss the toast into my cart with a shrug, leaning on my shopping cart to face him.
"Trust me, I understand." He looks at me with a sarcastic smile, motioning to his shopping basket, filled with instant ramen noodles and a case of energy drinks. I let out a hearty laugh, feeling heat rise up to my cheeks. As funny as it was, I felt bad for him. I could tell he needed a better diet, especially with the hard work and long hours he does.
"How's everything going? With the case, you know." I say, my smile fading. I couldn't even imagine the pain this case was causing everyone. Detective Loki included. It must have been why his diet only consisted of instant noodles and energy drinks.
"Oh. You know. It's been rough on everyone. The first 48 hours always is. We're holding the first search party tonight, if you want to come on by and help the girls' families out. I'm sure they'd appreciate it."
"Yeah, I'd love that. I'm sorry, haven't heard about it on the news or anything. Haven't invested in a TV just yet, haha." I say with a light giggle. "What time is the search party?" I look up at his eyes, feeling a rush of heat through my body. He made eye contact with me, taking a second to respond, his eyes blinking a couple times before he spoke.
"At 6. It's about a quarter to. You can stop by at the station and we'll be handing out vests and gear and all that stuff." I was more than happy to help out. I wanted to try my best and help these families find their daughters. If it were my child, I'd want people to do the same.
"Sounds good. " I smile and a nod. "I'll walk home and drop this stuff off and I'll be on my way. My place is probably a 15 minute walk from here." I say, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.
"Let me drive you." He says in a firm tone. I hesitated for a second, "No, I couldn't ask you to do that. I don't live that far." I say with a nervous chuckle.
"Don't mention it." He says, waving a hand in dismissal. "It's cold out, and you've got a lot of groceries to handle. It's the least I can do." He says with a gentle smile. "You can count this as a favor returned for that great coffee you made me." He says. I couldn't help but smile at his absolute charm. His vibe was so comforting. I wanted to give him a hug and never let go.
"I'll go ahead and checkout, and I'll meet you in the front of the store. Sound good?" He says. I didn't even get a chance to refuse it. He was so persistent in helping me. I loved that about him already. I didn't feel a tiny bit guilty wanting to get into his car and talk a bit more, even if it was for a short time before he had to get back to work.
"Alright then" I say in happy defeat. "I'm almost done here." I mention towards the isle of frozen foods.
"No worries, take your time." He says strolling away into the next isle.
...
Lugging my bags of groceries to the front of the store, I feel a hand on my back and a woman's voice speak out to me.
"Miss, let me help you with that. You've got an awful lot of groceries there for such a small lady." She says with a chuckle. I turn to face her, and I'm face to face with an average height woman, who looks to be in her fifties. She had frizzy graying hair, and some outdated glasses. What's with these people and their 80's glasses? I think to myself.
"Oh, it's alright, thank you so much. I've got someone to help me, but thanks so much for the offer, umm..."
"Holly. Holly Jones. And no, I insist. Let me help you carry this to your car, please." She was insistent on helping me, and wouldn't let me say no. Her persistence caught me off guard and put me off a bit, but I was stuck in a position where I couldn't leave, or decline her offer. I clearly wasn't able to carry them alone.
"That's alright, Mrs. Jones. I can help her carry them." Detective Loki walked up to us, slightly waving a hand in dismissal in Holly's direction. She looked up at him above her glasses, a frown plastered on her wrinkled face.
"Ahhh. Detective...Loki, was it? The man who let my son be attacked by a deranged man." She said in a low tone. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I could feel the tension rising. "Say, Detective, did you arrest that man for assault? I would hope so, considering your reputation around here." She says, looking around. There wasn't many people left in the store, but the cashiers were starting to take notice of the situation forming.
Embarrassed, I looked at Detective Loki, his eyes blinking rapidly and his brows furrowing. He bends down to grab my bags, and avoids eye contact with the woman. "Let's go, Cass." He says harshly. God, I loved the way my name rolled off of his tongue. I follow after him, looking back at the woman who had a smug smirk on her face, both hands gripping her shopping cart handle.
"He wouldn't be in this position if he kept his daughter on a tighter leash, Detective." She says in his direction. I look at him, the anger rising up to his face, and his eyes blinking. As he seems to do when he's thinking hard about something, or angry in this case. I instinctively put a hand on his bicep, trying to bring him back down to himself. I feel the outline of his muscles in my palm, feeling the sweat starting to rise in my hands. I give his arm a small squeeze, out of my own selfish curiosity.
"Please, Loki. She's just taunting you. It's just pettiness. Let it go, okay? Let's go. We've got those girls to look for." I say softly, with sorrowful eyes. I placed a gentle hand on the space between his muscular shoulders. He seemed to relax into my touch a bit, so I gave him a gentle rub and let go. I felt extremely bad, feeling as if it were my fault that I had put him in that position. He looks at me, and then speaks.
"You're right. Let's go." He took a deep breath, letting out a shaky breath. I could tell he was still angry, just trying to hide it as best as he could. Male rage was my specialty, and being with Mark taught me to learn the ins and outs of body language when it came to them about to lose control of themselves.
We walked to the car in silence. It wasn't so much awkward, but it was a tension-filled moment that put us in a weird silence. As we loaded the trunk with the grocery bags, I looked up to Detective Loki. "Are you alright? I know that was...something." I say, trying to lighten the mood.
"Yeah, I..I'm alright. Stuff like that just doesn't make this job easy when there's so much pressure. You know?" He says with a gentler tone, distancing his stare. "I'm trying my hardest here. I'm human too." His words made me want to wrap him in a warm blanket, and rip him away from all of his worries.
"Yeah. I get it. It's so hard on you already, I don't understand the lack of empathy some people have." I say, nodding my head in understanding. He looks at me and smiles, nodding his head also.
"You get it. That's refreshing to know."
We both get inside of the car, rubbing our hands together and scrambling to turn the car's heat on.
"Thank you, Loki. You didn't have to do this, you know."
"David. You can call me David." He says, pressing the Heat button on the dashboard. "And it's no worries. I'll be damned if I let you walk home alone in the cold and dark with that many bags. How would you defend yourself with your hands full?" He says quietly, looking directly at me. He looked my face up and down, his eyes landing on my lips. When he lowered his tone, I felt a tingle between my legs. His voice was so gentle, so charming. I wanted him to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
Still looking at me, he chuckles and puts the car into drive.
"Don't know, David. Guess I'll need a knight in shining armor to defend me, huh." I say sarcastically.
"I wonder who that is" He says invitingly.
We both let out shy laughter and with that, we were off to my place.
#david loki#detective david loki#fanfic#jake gyllenhaal#prisoners#detective x reader#jake gyllenhaal fanfic#jacob benjamin gyllenhaal#jake gyllenhaal x reader#david loki x reader#detective loki x reader
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It is currently 4am in the morning, I can't sleep, so let's do this now. (Pretty sure I've done it before but this is simply going be the updated version🤪)
15 questions + 15 friends; I was tagged by @spezialgelagerte-rokokokokotte thanking youuu <3
It got quite long, so I'll put a cut here😅
1. Are you named after anyone?
No😊 (and I say this confidently because I named myself)
2. When was the last time you cried?
Two days ago, on my birthday (I was just a little emotional), but @maxwellshimbo was there to comfort me💚
3. Do you have kids?
Not of my own, no. And it's unlikely that is ever going to happen.
4. What sports do you play/have you played?
I did ballet as a kid but quickly got tired of it and started playing football, which I technically STILL play (it's been 84 14 years💀) but I am falling out of love with it. I used to do archery for like a year which I absolutely loved and hope to do again sometime! I'm in a club for lifeguarding (German peeps will probably have heard of DLRG👀) so I spent quite some time at the swimming pool as well. Though I am not as active in actual training anymore. And I did ballroom dancing for a while. Like standard and latin dances. My favourite was probably Cha Cha Cha and my least favourite was definitely Quickstep😵💫 it was fun tho! I danced with one of my best friends and I did the leading parts which made me feel kind of gender euphoric. I also like to go for a run every now and then but overall I'd consider myself a not so sporty person. I like to relax a lot🥴
5. Do you use sarcasm?
I cannot live without. It just comes naturally.
6. What is the first thing you notice about people?
Just the overall vibe I guess. And whether I like them or not.
7. What is your eye colour?
It says blue-grey on my ID but I've been told they're actually more green-ish and I kind of agree.
8. Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings. I don't like scary movies, I think they're ridiculous.
9. Any talents?
Hm. Well...my dad jokes are pretty good🤪 but apart from that...I guess I'm quite creative?🤷🏻 I speak 3 languages fluently? I can touch my tongue to my nose? Idk xD
10. Where were you born?
In some small town in northern Germany. Fellow Germans will probably know it for one (1) big tourist attraction but I'm not going to specify it here.
11. What are your hobbies?
I play theater. I play several musical instruments (bass, flute, ukulele, kalimba and some more but I'm not as good). I like taking pictures and editing them. Sometimes I write fanfic and/or poetry. And I like to relax in my bean bag🥴
12. Do you have any pets?
I have a cat but I haven't lived with her in 3 years. (Due to an allergy🤧 and me moving out of my parents' house.) I visit her from time to time tho!
13. How tall are you?
It used to be 1,68m on my ID but I recently had to renew it and now it says I'm 1,71m...I think I might actually be smaller than that though🥴
14. Favourite subject in school?
Always all the languages. Never any of the sciences. I loved music class as well. And all the school bands I played in. I miss that.
15. Dream job?
Please, that is the WORST question you could ask me right now😩 I feel a little lost. I'm currently studying to be a translator but is it what I really want? I don't know ;-; I miss working at the kindergarten lately. But I don't know if I'd wanna do that full time either. I'm so insecure and I hope I'll figure it out soon.
Phew. This took me almost an hour. Well. Let's see if I can fall asleep now. 1½ hours left until my alarm goes off. Good night😴
No pressure tags: @daughterofhecata @miaisreadytorun @bistdueinbaum
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Weekend in Chicago
Day 0
Unusually, I didn't feel particularly anxious about this trip, though I still slept badly the night before departure. Although I left slightly ahead of schedule, I had a long wait for BART and then a long wait for the little mini-train to my terminal at the airport, and then the line for security was longer than I expected, so I only just had time to buy food for the flight. When I arrived at my gate, my group was already boarding. Since I’m usually at the airport 2 hours before departure, this came as a bit of a shock! But once I was on the plane, it all went smoothly. Nobody was in the middle seat next to me (I had a window), and I spent the flight reading a novel. I finished it just after we landed! [separate post coming about the book]
I landed at Chicago O’Hare around 8pm. Because it was such a short trip, I hadn’t checked a bag, which is practically unheard-of for me; I was proud of packing so light! Although it’s obvious, I still felt surprised at how quickly I could leave the airport since I didn’t have to wait for checked luggage! Because it was dark (and raining a little), I took a cab to my hotel, where Best Friend had already arrived. We went up to the room to drop off my stuff, then went out for dinner. This was a hip hotel in a hip neighborhood called River North, and we were decidedly not cool enough to stay there! However, we were also old enough not to give a shit!
By then it was 9pm (7pm for my body clock though), and we were very hungry. We had thought we would just go to a little ramen shop nearby, as surely at this hour restaurants would be emptying out, but it turned out to be packed. It was Saturday night, and I guess people in Chicago are back to going out at night. We struggled to find a restaurant that could seat us, but we eventually got a table at Hub 51. Chicago is a foodie town, and we enjoyed our meal, though the portion sizes were enormous.
After that, we returned to our hotel and went to bed soon afterwards.
Day 1
We had a leisurely start before heading out to grab breakfast en route to the Art Institute of Chicago, which was the main purpose of this weekend getaway. They had an exhibition of Remedios Varo, my favorite artist, called Science Fictions. It was fabulous. If you are in or near Chicago, I think you still have a week or two to catch this before it closes! I will be posting photos. I had only seen a few of the paintings in person before, and there were more paintings than I expected, along with a bunch of sketches. As always, seeing the paintings in person brought out details I hadn’t noticed when looking at reproductions of them, and in fact, I think there were some paintings I wasn’t familiar with at all. We spent quite a while in that exhibition before moving on to look at other works in the museum, including some great Georgia O’Keeffe paintings (I loved the landscapes) and quite a few Sargents (many from early in his career), the Chagall window, the Tiffany window, some Frank Lloyd Wright-designed things, and some furniture (some of which was great and some of which was hilariously hideous). We ate a late lunch in a sheltered courtyard café in the museum and then resumed looking at art.
After the museum, we wandered through Maggie Daley Park. It was late afternoon, and I did some birdwatching while Best Friend made a couple of phone calls. I saw a palm warbler! That was a new bird for me, and I also got a good look at a fairly distinctive bird but still couldn’t identify it. I took photos, and was later able to determine that it was an ovenbird, which is also a new one for me! There were lots of white-throated sparrows (uncommon where I live) and yellow-rumped warblers, as well as some northern cardinals (which don’t exist where I live).
We ate dinner at a deep-dish pizza place, which seemed mandatory while in Chicago. It was delicious! This restaurant makes single-person pizzas, which are cute (the fork and pen below are normal-sized and included for scale). I still couldn’t finish mine, so I brought ¼ of it back to the hotel (in a cute box!) to eat for breakfast.
We then returned to the hotel to pack and wind down.
Day 2
I had set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 6:45am, not because either of us had an early flight (we didn’t), but because we wanted to do something fun before heading to the airport. So we checked out of our hotel at 8:30, left our luggage, and took the metro (well, the el) to the 606, a repurposed elevated rail line that is now a sort of park/trail for bikes and pedestrians. Best Friend admired the architecture of the neighborhoods we were walking through, while I did some birdwatching. We then walked through Humboldt Park (more birdwatching, the highlights of which were a golden-crowned kinglet, wood ducks, lots of white-throated sparrows, and more northern cardinals, though there were also about 60 Canada geese, which was slightly terrifying!).
On our way back to the el, we stopped at Typica Café, which turned out to be Venezuelan. Best Friend had to attend a Zoom meeting for a half hour. I ate a delicious guava-cheese puff pastry, which is apparently a Venezuelan thing and which I highly recommend if you get the opportunity to have one! The hot chocolate was also exceptionally good; it was made using Venezuelan cocoa and, I think, a tiny bit of caramel syrup. It was excellent; not too sweet.
We then walked to the el and rode back to our hotel, picked up our luggage, walked to the pizza place so Best Friend could bring two frozen pizzas back for her husband and son, and then rode the el to the airport. We had gotten day passes for the Chicago el, which were a steal at $5.
At the airport we hugged goodbye as we were on different airlines. Going through security was fine, and I got to walk through the colored light underpass that is the only good thing at O'Hare. I bought snacks to eat on the plane. Boarding was a bit of a fiasco (they started boarding group 3 before group 2 for some reason) and very inefficient, but as we all reminded each other and ourselves, the only thing that really mattered was getting to our destination safely and approximately on time.
The flight itself was full and slightly delayed but fairly uneventful, and I got home via BART within 1.5 hours of landing. Yay! Although it was frankly bananas to fly halfway across the country for a 2-night stay, I feel very refreshed and energized by it and am glad I went, and particularly glad that Best Friend joined me. She's a great travel companion (despite her snoring), and I think it's the first trip we've taken together since she had her son nearly 13 (Edit: 14!) years ago.
I plan to post some photos from the trip. (I realise I didn't manage to do that after the Europe trip this summer, but this was only 2 days so it should be more manageable!)
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Find The Word Tag
Tagged by @mikathemad and @kitnita thank you so much to both of you!!
This is going to be so long, so I'm cutting it off soon, sorry in advance jsjsjs
My words (Mika's): remember, white, love, sweet
Remember:
“I live with him, remember?” Wyatt’s eyes dart to the side, before returning to Roope’s face.
Something twists in Roope’s stomach, like his food is settling all wrong. He frowns.
“I thought you’d left,” he replies.
Wyatt’s fingers twitch, before Wyatt shoves his hands deep in his pockets.
“Yeah, well,” Wyatt shrugs, then bites his bottom lip, chewing on it like he wants to make it bleed. It comes away red and shiny when spit, when Wyatt finally releases it, hums and shrugs again as he turns to Roope. “An experiment. It went terribly so. I went back to Joe’s.”
White:
Everybody knows, that the northern sirens are more dangerous than their brethren from the South.
Or, rather, they all should know, but the southern sirens were flashier, easier to remember, than their more cunning siblings, their minds made as sharp as their teeth by the cold that could kill everyone without pause.
Petey had shown them his teeth when he arrived, all sharp edges and blinding white, and never let anyone forget them.
Love:
“Yeah, Marns and…,” he sighs again. His voice sounds muffled from behind his fingers, and when he lets out a chuckle, it’s airy and as fake as the designer bags that Kniesy insists are the real thing. Auston drops his hands from his face after a moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, while his mouth twists into a smile that’s all sharp edges, every one of them directed inwards, before continuing. “Only falling in love with boys and things that will break my heart.”
(bitter)Sweet:
It should be a relief, that he can rest, that he isn’t late, not really, but instead it tastes like disappointment, something bittersweet lodged in his throat.
He lead his team to the playoffs, for the first time in years.
They got kicked out of them, so thoroughly and suddenly that Nico’s body couldn’t get used to the idea, loose the shape of his stick between his hands, the roaring of the crowd from his ears.
Zoe's words:
Matter:
Trevor comes undone under Jack's hands with a soft cry, his body writhing on the bed as he buries his fingers in the sheets, soft whimpers spilling from him no matter how hard he bites his lips. Leaning forward, Jack presses their mouths together, coaxes Trevor's open and drinks the sounds he lets out like he's a man lost in the desert and Trevor an oasis.
Hot:
Ty does turn around, now, and Wyatt's face feels sunburnt all over, like the time he fell asleep by the pool and forgot to put on sunscreen. Under Ty's surprised expression, Wyatt feels both hot and cold, like he might discover a shade of red never before seen on a human.
"Okay," Ty replies, slowly, his eyes scanning Wyatt's face like he can read whatever is writing under his flush. "But I stand by it. You're as pretty as a girl, prettier than some, even."
Respect:
There is no respect in any of my wips friends, I am sorry, there are some very rude people
Even:
Hischier’s wearing the stupid sweater. The one with white and brown stripes, so fucking ugly that even Jack would like to burn it to ashes. He’d rip it off Hischier, throw it in a volcano just so he didn’t have to see it, save humanity from such a horrendous sight.
The Hischier on screen, prerecorded, ignorant of Jack’s existence and his inner monologue, laughs and shrugs. The sweater engulfs him whole, and Jack clenches his fist so hard there are prints of a half moon in the palm of his hand.
Thank you both for tagging me, it was a lot of fun!
Tagging: @coffeehound91 @ijustdontlikepeople @devilssacrament
Your words: sky, blood, forget, years
#in no particular order we have: fake dating magical hearts with fuckbuddies (no) werewolves suffering roope actor au wydelly#heart fic#i am very excited about some of these (all of them but some are more likely to see the light soon) and i hope you guys will like them too#feel free to play if i havent tagged you either. and no pressure if you don't want to play!#and if you want to talk fic to me. you know where i am#valstuff#my writing
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please help a friend of a friend’s family flee the war in gaza!
Their story is under the keep reading banner:
(from the GoFundMe page)
My name is Lana and I am a current master’s student in the US and a Smith College Alumni. I am creating this GoFundMe on behalf of my parents, sisters, my two uncles, and their kids who are all in Gaza. The only way to leave Gaza is to get a permit to cross the Rafah border between Gaza and Egypt which is a costly process. This donation link is my family’s glimmer of hope to escape the ongoing genocide in Gaza. If you want to know more about what they went through and the current situation they are enduring please check the text below:
On October 7th, the war broke in Gaza City, where both my immediate and extended family live. By October 10th, my parents received an urgent evacuation order for our neighborhood located in al Rimal, the northern area of Gaza. They first went to my grandfather’s house to seek refuge, and a few days after, they relocated to my uncle’s house seeking a safer shelter amid the escalating conflict However, realizing the pervasive danger across the city, my parents and sisters made the decision to move to the southern part of Gaza in Rafah, enduring heavy bombardment and shelling in their way for safety which was not actually much safer than where they fled from.
Meanwhile, my uncle's family remained in their apartment in the northern part of Gaza, making calls and attempting to find a secure shelter in the southern part of Gaza. Their harrowing experience unfolded on November 1st when the sound of bombing was louder than usual and their apartment on the 7th floor of their building was trembling. With the sky ablaze in red, my uncle and his neighbors evacuated the apartments carrying minimal belongings and essential documents. All the neighbors gathered in the hallway of the building trying to find a way on how to safely evacuate the building since they were surrounded by tanks and missiles were falling in every possible direction. My 22-year-old cousin Samah said: “My mother was standing in the middle; I was standing to the right side of her, and my sister Raghad was standing to the left when a heavy airstrike hit the hallway of the building where we were all standing”. Samah’s mother and her sister unfortunately did not survive the airstrike. My uncle and his children bid their final farewells at the hospital; witnessing their beloved 20-year-old sister placed in a plastic bag and their mother shrouded in white cloth. They could not go back to their apartment because the entire building was completely demolished, all that remains as a reminder of their lost family members are the belongings they carried while attempting to evacuate.
My uncle and his kids could not go to the south because the road was so dangerous. They were stranded at a relative’s house for 20 days dealing with scarcity of food and water. When starvation was as dangerous as walking to the south they decided to take that long risky journey. My cousin Samah told me they were all so hungry and they had to walk for more than 5 hours. She told me that she fainted three times.
Current situation:
My two uncles, my cousins, my parents, and my siblings are all now in Rafah in the south of Gaza, which is also unfortunately under constant bombing since there is no safe place in Gaza right now. The constant feeling of fear, the lack of water and food, and the cold winter nights made the living conditions of my family and the people of Gaza unbearable. No one deserves to live in constant fear, with empty stomachs, and feeling unsafe. My family members are warm-hearted people who used to light up a room with their lively faces. But this war has taken away their sparkle, their homes, and worst of all, their loved ones. The last time I saw them was back in the summer of 2022 when I was home. I really hope that was not the last time I see them, so I'm asking for your help to get them out of Gaza by donating through this link.
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Gregory Winter, 54, was arrested in September 2022, after posting an outraged social-media comment about the Russian army’s atrocities in Bucha and Irpin. “Everything we already knew about from Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Syria has been repeated in Ukraine,” Winter wrote. “This is the end of ‘the Russian civilization.’ No one is ever going to fall for Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. Everybody will know that this is just a cover for Aleppo, Grozny, and Bucha.” Winter is now on trial for spreading “fake news” about the Russian military. His lawyers think he has a high chance of being sent to a prison colony, but Winter, who is diabetic, doesn’t think he would survive in those conditions. To prepare for the worst, he is trying to find new homes for the nine cats he has rescued from the streets over the years. Here’s the story of Gregory Winter and his cats, as told by the independent Russian media The New Tab.
Gregory Winter is a human rights activist from Cherepovets, a city in the Vologda region of northern Russia. Formerly the head of a local branch of the NGO For Human Rights, Winter is known for his outspoken, sometimes provocative presence in the local media. He is used to the wrath of the Russian authorities, too, having been jailed in the past, and threatened with physical violence for campaigning to preserve his region’s forests from logging.
Gregory also has a passion for animal welfare. He grew up with parents who were constantly bringing home cats and dogs from the street, caring for sick animals, and trying to get them back on their feet. When he found himself living alone as an adult, Gregory started doing the same. About 20 years ago, he already had 12 cats living in his apartment. “You can’t just walk past a cat who’s been tormented by sadists and lies dying in the street,” he told The New Tab. “So the number of my animals rarely got smaller. It would only happen when a sick animal had to be euthanized.”
Winter only adopts new animals if he is sure that they won’t make it without human help. This is what happened with his cat Vasya, who had been dropped off at a dog shelter in a plastic bag. For six months, Gregory spoon-fed the emaciated cat. When Vasya got back on his feet, he unexpectedly turned into a fierce “godfather” to the rest of Winter’s gang of felines.
Another cat, named Susu, had her hind leg torn off by someone who then left her to die in the foyer of an apartment building. By some miracle, the vets managed to reattach her limb, but the traumatized cat spent three years hiding under Winter’s desk, without ever coming near him.
Susu might never have become attached to Winter if the Russian authorities didn’t arrest him and put him in jail. In 2020, he was charged with spreading misinformation about COVID-19. (The human rights organization Agora has pointed out that the new Russian law against COVID-related misinformation was frequently instrumentalized to persecute the government’s critics.) In jail, Winter was brutally beaten. Meanwhile, his friends were caring for his cats.
The cats proved to be so attached to Winter that two of them died: one before he was released, and the other not long afterwards.
In September 2022, Winter became a criminal suspect once again, this time for a social-media comment about the Russian army’s atrocities in Ukraine. After some time in custody, Winter was put under house arrest. He is certain, however, that this will only last for a couple of months — until the next court hearing, to be precise. His lawyers think his chance of getting a prison sentence very high.
Winter has no close family members in the area. His adult son lives abroad, and because he is subject to being drafted into the Russian army, Winter would never even think of asking him to come to Russia for his cats. He is also pessimistic about his own chances of surviving in prison: “I have a complicated form of diabetes,” Winter says, “and if they put me in prison, I’ll never get out. They don’t have any medications there. One way or another, I must figure out the fate of my cats.”
The cat named Susu has already been adopted by a family from Yaroslavl, but Gregory’s other cats don’t seem to interest anyone in Cherepovets. Their owner hopes that Russians from other regions might come forward to adopt them. “There are only nine cats at the moment,” he says,
and all of them are sweet, well-trained, and unfussy with food. I’m asking people who love animals to help me. My friends will bring the cats to Moscow, St. Petersburg, or to other cities in Central Russia. Some of the cats can do well in a suburban home. My cat Baldie is an excellent mouser. Vasya can be an excellent working cat, he has just the right temper for guarding a house.
If you can help with an adoption of one or more of Gregory Winter’s cats, please send a message to The New Tab on Telegram.
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Fun ask time. This is Tzapo, my miniature xoloitzcuintli SDiT. Not my first pick in terms of prospect breed but opportunity presented when I got him as a stroke of luck and he had the right temperament. One of the fun and very different behaviors of his compared to my lab and pit mixes of childhood are his incredibly strong drive to den and nest up. This man will nest on a trash bag left empty on the floor or my work papers when I had no choice but to work on the ground because gods forbid his body should ever be without a bed of some sort when he's off duty. I've never seen this ridiculously strong of a denning behavior in a dog before. While obviously very different breeds in nature, have you noticed a similar huge denning drive in your "primitive breed type" dogs? I saw some of it in a Chihuahua we had but nothing still to this extent.
Picture of ridiculous man in question with a nest made out of his bed on top of an air mattress and pile of blankets and pillows because his bed alone isn't cozy enough.
Thank you for the adorable photo and charming story! I love xolos!
I’d say that one would be more likely to see nesting behaviors from short haired or hairless primitives in a pet environment vs the double coated breeds.
Simply speaking, when living in the house, unless our heat goes out in the middle of winter or the dogs are directly under the AC it is too warm for them to want to nest. They enjoy sitting on the couch and our bed, but hate extra blankets and dog beds which wrap around them tightly, again bc they get warm.
Where you do see the most of this for double coated primitives is working outside. Race dogs and recreational sled dogs use the famed “husky” donut in snowbanks and straw nests to keep warm on runs. It should be noted that the fur on northern breeds are so thick and insulating that snow does not melt on them, which is probably why they’re too warm inside to want to do this.
And bonus donut
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An update
Hey All, I know I haven't been too active here in the past 2 (3? 4?) months, but there were a lot of things happening and tumblr just had to move down on the endless to-do list. Anyway, I hope I'll have a little bit more time from now on, so let's start at the beginning. (If you don't know who we are you can always check our website to get to know us better.)
If anyone had asked about our location in the last couple of years, we always answered the same: "currently we live in Hungary". It was the right answer, as both of us have lived and worked abroad before and have always planned to do so again. After spending the last few years in our home country, moving again to a different part of the world started to feel more reasonable than ever. Everyday life in Hungary clearly had a negative effect on our mental health, and that definitely had a mark on our work performance as well.
Grasshopper Geography is our only source of income and thanks to the automated solutions we can take it wherever we go. This was convenient when we decided to jump in a lifeboat and escape to a (hopefully) quieter, more relaxed life. However, we knew that lacking the finances our only option was volunteering. We started to look for a place in late October without any specific countries in mind. After a few weeks of searching and applying we found a lovely coastal village above the Arctic Circle in northern Norway. Here lives a marine biologist who is happy to have my help in his work (tagging whales and studying their behaviour) and my partner is welcome to help out in his local business.
The end of the year and the first three weeks of January was all about packing and moving and leaving the apartment that we lived in. We packed all the things we need in two bags, and left our home on the 25th. Now that we've spent two months here, I think I can say that this small village is everything we hoped for: it's peaceful, isolated, beautiful. Our host is a lovely man, so far it's great to work with him. Everyone we meet is very friendly and welcoming, it's a nice little community.
We are sure this change will help us be better at what we do and will let us focus on our beloved maps more. We have plenty of ideas; now we finally will have the capacity to realize them.
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Tbh…. Any of ur ocs…….. if u want to…. I would like to see them. TALK ABT THEM.
Oh Nolan… Nolan today you have given me a GIFT
Ramblings about my OCs under the cut, because I have MANY thoughts, head full
First of all, all of my OCs are in highschool in the American school system, Junior or sophomore year. This is also the age when I first made them, so they’ve got a lot of me in them. They also were all originally Homestuck OCs that were based on some of my friends, but they have since shifted away from that
Anita is a short Chinese American girl. She’s got round red glasses and long black hair, and generally doesn’t put up with the nonsense of her friends. She’s dating Emerald and mostly is considered the dad friend of the group. She moved to the town about a year or two before after an accident at her old school made her family have to move. She uses ASL to communicate after the accident left her unable to speak. Because of said accident, she generally prefers non-physical confrontations
Nick is a tall relatively well built Irish boy. He’s got rectangular glasses, short ginger hair, and a truly outrageous amount of freckles. He’s a running back on the school football team and he’s dating Anthony. He has a big family and he lives with them on their rabbit farm a few miles out of town. His family is fairly conservative and only his older brother knows that he’s gay, so his relationship with Anthony has to remain visibly platonic at his home. He has issues with his temper and is easily riled into anger by his friend’s stupid bits
Demetri is a VERY short Northern European mixed girl. She currently has short fluffy blonde hair that used to be long and up in pigtails, a stupid amount of freckles, and big blue eyes. She’s transgender, amab, and she still goes by her birth name because her parents are a pair of abusive assholes. Her hair was longer early in the story, but her parents cut it when they found out. She’s mostly a precious cinnamon roll sunshine child, and her boyfriend Nero loves her dearly
Nero is an average height Italian-Native American mixed boy. He’s got curly auburn hair that you see zero amount of the time because he constantly wears a baseball hat. He’s gender fluid but generally goes by he/him pronouns. He’s that friend that uses memes and humor to lighten the mood and distract from any problems he might be going through. He’s got an older brother, and an older sister who died before the story began
Emerald is a tall Haitian/African American girl. She has kinky black hair that she styles into an Afro style and bright green eyes. She’s not really one of the popular kids, but she’s one of those kids that the popular kids respect. She generally dresses in pretty old fashioned clothes alla the 70’s 80’s. She’s dating Anita and is DEFINITELY the mom friend in the group. Like she legit Carrie’s a first aid kit in her bag. She’s been friends with Anthony since before they can both remember and she learned first aid because of him
Anthony is a tall scrawny European mutt, but he’s culturally Italian. He wears thick square glasses that he replaces often because they keep breaking. He has short fluffy brown hair and teal eyes. He is very openly gay, and this gets him pretty badly bullied by some of Nick’s teammates. He’s a meme boy similar to Nero, but he mostly uses his jokes to distract his friends from worrying about his injuries. He looks VERY twinkish and is incredibly accident prone
Cecilia is a very tall Puerto Rican girl. She has thick framed hipster glasses. Half of her head is shaved and the other half is long and curly dark brown. She pretends to hate most of the others and the only one she’ll admit to liking is Demetri. Legit very depressed, she’s the classic high school loner who makes “I want to die” jokes that don’t sound like jokes. She knows everyone and everything and mostly just broods in the back of the room on her phone and pipes up with comments that are concerningly accurate
Lena is African-American, although she has some Scottish from her mom’s side. She has naturally burnt orange hair that she has in purple dyed dreads. She’s a cheerleader for the football team but she’s also in like a million other sports as well. She’s that person who wears shorts and tank tops no matter how cold it is. She has a friendly rivalry with Nick and delights in getting him pissed off. Her family owns the town’s aquarium and she can’t wait for her older sister to take over the company so she can stop pretending to care about it. She regularly gets into fights to defend her friends’ honor, and insists that she’s Cecilia’s best friend
That’s all of my kids! I can post pictures of them if any of y’all are interested. And if y’all have questions go ahead and ask me, I’d love to talk about them more
#not rwby#anita chou#nick evens#demetri beaton#nero caesar#emerald adona#anthony wesley#cecilia enigma#lena shean#mine#my ocs#asks#nolanporfirio
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